


Go on and Light Me Like a Cigarette

by archersand



Series: Craving Something Sweeter [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Musician Luke Hemmings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:08:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archersand/pseuds/archersand
Summary: This is an offshoot of Sweeter than the Words I Left in Your Mouth. Which is part one of this series and is a story I'm in process of wrapping up. This one will not make any sense unless you read Chapters 1-6 of that story. If you're reading that story and thinking, sure wish this was more dramatic and sad, then switch to this one. If you're like, times are tough man and I just want something soft and sweet, stick on Sweeter. I'm not judging either way.
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Luke Hemmings
Series: Craving Something Sweeter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029951
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

3 Months Later 

When it happened, it happened so quickly. 

The manager approached Luke as he was having a drink after a particularly awesome show. By the end of the month, Luke found himself signed on to a record label. Suddenly, his shows were being promoted on the label’s instagram. Suddenly, the crowd coming to see him couldn’t all fit in the venues. There were ticketed shows and merch with his face on and demos and a verified Spotify account. 

His head was spinning and nothing felt real. 

He tried to pay Michael back after his first paycheck from the label. He wrote out a check and pushed it under the door. Michael immediately pushed it back. They repeated this back and forth several times until there was a quick sound and the check appeared again, only now torn into 4 equal pieces. 

_ We’re already even,  _ was written on one of the pieces. 

Then his life got even more complicated. 

“I have to treasure these moments now that you’re getting all famous.” Ashton said with absolutely no bitterness. They were walking together after having dinner. Luke had quit the coffee shop, a move that did nothing to quell the dreamlike feeling of his life. “But please introduce me to Beyonce and Jay-Z before you forget me completely.”

“I’ll never forget you, Ash.” 

“Uh-huh. Soon you’ll be selling out Madison Square and I’ll have to buy a ticket like every other schmuck out here.” 

“If I sell out Madison, IF, I’ll need you more than ever. Someone will have to be standing backstage with me, reminding me how to breathe.” 

“I can do that. I’m very skilled at breathing.” Ashton stopped at a bench in the park. “How are things going with your manager?”

“Ok.” Luke sat beside him. “He’s been trying to convince me to move closer to the studio and the office.”

“Why’s that?”

“Some fan found my address and was like, posting about it all over the internet. He got her to stop but. He says it’s really easy to figure out where I live. He says after the album comes out I’m going to want a place with more security.”

“That makes sense. Can you afford it?”

“It’s not about that. I don’t want to move.”

“If it’s not about the money.” Ashton stopped. “Oh. It’s because of Michael, huh?”

“Yeah. I can’t just abandon him.”

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. Both?”

“He got by just fine without you before. He’ll be fine.”

“Well, whatever, I’m not moving. Can we talk about something else?”

Ashton looked hard at Luke. “You brought it up, Man. Are you seriously going to just keep living in that shithole? For how long?”

“I don’t know!” Luke threw up his hands. “Maybe forever, maybe my music will tank after the album comes out and I’ll be glad I didn’t leave what’s safe behind.”

“You’ve always believed in yourself so much. Are you seriously letting your feelings for your neighbor weigh more than your career?”

“You’re the one who wanted me to keep talking to him! It was your idea to get him groceries! You were all excited every time I brought him up!”

“Yeah, that was back when the only thing  _ you  _ were excited about was your neighbor. Nothing was happening with your music but your neighbor? That was something. Now your music’s taking off, you’re going to not commit to it 100 percent because of this guy you hardly know and have never seen?”

“That’s not fair. He’s my friend.”

“You buy him groceries, you talk to him all the time, you’re putting him first in front of your career. What’s he doing for you?”

“He doesn’t have to  _ do  _ anything. That’s not how friendship works. You just don’t understand him.”

“Here’s what I understand: 3 months ago you were texting, talking through the wall, leaving him stuff at his front door. Now, nothing’s progressed there. Where do you see this going, Luke? How do you see it changing in the next 3, 6, whatever months?” 

Luke looked pointedly away. “If I up and leave him, who will he have then? How could I live with myself, just carrying on while he’s still struggling right where I dropped him?” 

Ashton put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying I get how it is between you two. Cause I don’t. But. I’ve been wondering if it’s healthy for either of you. If you’re taking care of everything for him, is he just going to keep himself locked away forever? Are you maybe enabling something that he really should be trying to overcome?”

Luke kicked at the snow under the bench. “You really think that? That he’d be better off without me?” 

Ashton’s face twisted, clearly conflicted. “Not like, he’s worse because of you. That’s not what I meant. I just meant the two of you are like, stuck. And I hate to think of you staying this way when the whole world is just so ready for you, Luke Hemmings: future international pop star.”

“I’ll think about that.” They got up to continue walking. “Let’s talk about you now. Jesus, I talk about myself too much.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Later that night, while he was playing guitar, Luke’s phone beeped with a message from Michael. 

_ Hey, you ok? You’ve been playing the same sad song for like an hour.  _

Luke leaned back against the wall. After 3 months, the move seemed almost natural, no longer awkward to be having half a conversation aloud like this. 

“Yeah. Sort of.”

_ Spill.  _

Luke looked down at the message. His throat felt tight just seeing that one word. The thought of leaving Michael made him feel physically sick, like opening his fists and watching something precious float away. 

_ Come on. You can tell me. It’s not like I’ll tell anyone :)  _

Luke choked a little. “My manager wants me to move before going on tour.” 

_ Oh. Ok.  _

“No. No. Not ok! I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to leave you. I never wanted to be  _ that  _ guy. The kind that gets a little ahead and just leaves behind everyone they care about.” Luke thrust his guitar to the side and pulled his knees up to his chest. “That’s not me! That’s not who I am! But I don’t know how to stay here. And I don’t know how to bring you with me.” 

_ It’s not your job to bring me anywhere. And I’m not asking you to stay.  _

“I know that. I do. I know it’s not my job. I never did it because I had to. I like you. I’ve always liked you. I don’t want to do this without you.” 

Silence. Silence. Silence. 

“Michael? Michael, please.” Luke knocked twice on the wall between them. He waited and waited. He felt like the friend he’d heard periodically knocking on Michael’s door, the one Michael never opened the door for. “Don’t shut me out now. Please.” 

There was no answer. Luke tried again and again to talk through the wall. And knocked on Michael’s front door. And fell asleep eventually, playing Mitch Hedburg’s comedy central video, hoping the familiar sound would rouse a response. But in the morning there were still no messages from Michael. 

Much later, when he came home from a day of promo and press, Luke was brought to an abrupt halt when he got to the top of the stairs. 

Michael’s door was open. 

Luke took a few unsteady steps over to it, knocking despite the movement making the door swing open even wider. 

“Michael?” 

Silence. Silence. Silence. 

The rooms were not empty. There were dishes piled in the sink. There was a scratched kitchen table, mismatching chairs, a worn couch. In the bedroom, there were clothes strewn all across the floor, an unmade bed. 

But there was no Michael. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first ever time I'm posting something as I'm writing it and not after it's mostly all completed so please forgive me for how long it's taking and for sudden changes like me saying, naw I don't like that title let's try another one. I hope you enjoy reading it anyhow!

There were keys to Michael’s apartment sitting on his dresser. 

Luke slept there the first night by mistake, laying down on the couch, listening, listening for the sound of Michael returning. 

After the first night, what was his excuse? Was it wrong, Luke wondered, to sleep there every night? Curled up on the couch with blankets scavenged from his own apartment? 

Was it wrong, he wondered, to wash all the dishes in the sink? To investigate where they might go in the kitchen cupboard amongst soup and spaghettiOs he recognized from his own shopping trips. 

By the 3rd day that Michael hadn’t reappeared, Luke caved and went through his drawers. He found worn band t-shirts and soft sweatshirts. He put one on just to judge Michael’s shape. It hung loose around his shoulders, down over his hands, but in an intensionalway, like maybe Michael liked to feel small and enveloped. 

Then, there was a knock on the door, so unexpected and shocking that Luke spent a moment straining his ears, thinking it was a product of his imagination. Then there was more knocking. 

“Michael? Please, open the door.” 

Luke vaulted out of the room. He had the door open in 2 seconds. 

The man on the other side had his hand raised to knock on the door again and his whole body seemed to recoil in shock at the sight of Luke standing there. 

“Hey! Hi! Your Michael’s friend, right?”

“Hi,” the friend said, “um, doesn’t Michael live here anymore? Who are you?” 

“I’m Luke. I live next door.”

“Oh. I’m Calum. Is Michael here?” Calum, apparently, narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing in his apartment?”

“It’s kind of a long story. Do you want to come in?” 

Calum nodded quickly and followed Luke into the apartment. He paused to touch the groves in the kitchen table. 

“Here, sit down,” Luke said. “I’ll make us some coffee.” 

When he set two cups down on the table, Calum leaned in suddenly, squinting at Luke. “Hey, is that Michael’s sweatshirt?”

Luke looked down. He’d forgotten he’d been wearing it. “Ok. Yeah it is. But. I can explain-”

“No, it’s ok. It’s just. I remember that sweatshirt.” Calum swallowed heavily. “We went to see that show and Michael, he just had to have that sweatshirt. We waited in line for ages to buy it. He used to wear it all the time. He used to.” He stopped. 

“Did you. I mean. I never knew him to leave this apartment. I can’t picture him at a show. I’ve never heard him talk. Did he used to, you know, do that stuff?”

“Sort of. I mean, it’s complicated.” Calum took a drink of coffee. “He always talked to me but. He never liked it with other people. I thought I was. Special. I thought it would always be easy for him, with me. But I guess.”

“It’s not your fault.” Luke said quickly, even though they’d just met. Even though he had no real idea. 

“No, I know that. I do. Most of the time.” 

“When did he stop?” 

“When his parents died.” Calum’s fingers drummed a nervous pattern on the table. “He was supposed to speak at the funeral. I don’t know who thought that was a good idea. When he didn’t show I thought. I came here right away and knocked on the door. I tried to tell him it was ok. Everyone understood. But. That was the first time he didn’t answer the door for me. And then he never did again.” 

“I think I made him leave.” Luke admitted all in a rush. “I told him I was supposed to move away for work and I didn’t want to leave him and the next day the door to his apartment was open and he’s been gone.”

“Oh fuck, that sounds like him.” Calum snorted. “That idiot wants so badly to never inconvenience anyone, he doesn’t realize avoiding us is more hassle then it would be to just accept some help for once in his goddamn life.” 

“I can’t stop thinking about where he went. I keep imagining him sleeping under bridges or in doorways or. And being hungry and cold and not able to tell anyone. What if he’s starving? What if he’s-”

“Okay, stop.” Calum reached across the table to still Luke’s gesturing hands. “I wouldn’t worry about that kind of thing. He has a lot of money from his parents' life insurance and from when they sold the house. He can live a long, long time comfortably off of that.” 

Their coffee finished, Calum got up and walked around the apartment, commenting periodically on the couch he and Michael carried 12 blocks from the Goodwill, the painting of a seagull he’d bought from a sidewalk artist for 4 dollars held in the wall with thumbtacks. Even the most mundane things suddenly had purpose, had a marked Michael-ness.

Before he left, Calum put his number into Luke’s phone and then texted himself. 

“We’re together on this now, yeah? You’ll let me know if you see him around? Or Anything?” Calum was standing in the doorway like he didn’t want to leave. 

“Yeah, of course. And you will too?” 

“Of course.” Calum looked down again at Michael’s sweatshirt. “God. That was such a good night. We were so happy.” 

“He’s out there, Calum. We’ll find him.” It was a strange position for Luke to find himself in. Usually it was Luke flying off the handle and Ashton holding him together. Luke tried to channel Ashton as much as he could. 

“Thanks.” Calum finally made to go down the apartment steps, his heavy footsteps audible even as he disappeared from view. 


	4. Chapter 4

Luke started paying the rent on Michael’s apartment. He let his own apartment lease go and found a new place downtown in a highrise for all his stuff. But he slept almost exclusively at Michael’s. He liked the way the light came, familiar, through the living room windows. 

He started regularly wearing Michael’s clothes. He decided not to examine it too closely or feel guilty about it. He liked Michael’s collection of warm flannel button downs and holey t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. He untangled a knot of long pendant necklaces and took to wearing one under his shirt whenever he had a show. 

And, when his album was released, he packed his favorites to take along on tour. 

Don’t think about it, he told himself every night, slipping the necklace beneath the collar of his stage shirt, just don’t think about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton said for the hundredth time, on a phone call after a show, “I am no longer allowed to give anyone advice for the rest of time. I swear, if I’d known this would’ve happened-”

“It’s ok, Ash. Of course you couldn’t know Michael would cut and run like he did. I’m not mad at you.” Luke put his feet up on the back wall of his bunk. He could feel the bus wheels spinning, taking him on to another city. He was far too big to really fit comfortably in the cramped space. 

“Still.”

“Still.” Luke agreed to the unspoken statement. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Ashton breathed out a gush of air that came through the phone like static. 

Soon after that, Luke started to worry that he might be losing it. At his show in Boston, when he did a signing, someone pushed over a poster and said “can you write: to Michael?” 

Luke looked up so fast he felt it twinge in his neck. The stranger in front of him was too small to wear the clothes Luke found in Michael’s apartment. He would swim in those sweatpants. 

Still, Luke croaked out, “Michael?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man grinned at the attention, “only I spell it with a y. M-Y-C-A-L.”

Luke coughed a little, took a drink of water to explain the catch in his voice. “Right. Right. That’s different. Ok, here you go.”

And then at a bar after a show somewhere in midwest, the person next to him said loudly, “rice is great when you’re hungry and want 2,000 of something!”

Luke grabbed their shoulder and swung them around even though he knew it wasn’t, he knew. 

“Dude, what’s your problem?” The man looked ready to punch Luke in the face. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Luke put a twenty down on the bar and left his half-emptied pint to go out into the cold. 

He called Ashton and then didn’t know what to say. 

“What’s up? Did something happen?” 

“I don’t know.” Luke answered honestly. “I know he’s not here. But he could be anywhere.”

“Luke,” Ash’s voice was impossibly gentle for having been woken up at 2 a.m. his time. “It’s been months and months. If he wanted you to find him, he’d get in touch. Since he hasn’t, you have to move on.”

“I can’t,” Luke slid down the rough brick of the bar’s exterior. “I don’t know how.”

“I know this is a horrible thing to say but. You just. Have to.” 

Luke nodded numbly. There was snow falling all around him in a city he couldn’t remember the name of. On the bus the next morning, he called his mother for the first time in a long time. He let her talk about the storm rolling in over the shoreline, the fishermen bringing their boats into the harbor. He closed his eyes and imagined that life but then he put on Michael’s old sweatshirt and went to make some tea. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, cranking out chapters like nobody's business! Whoot

He was backstage watching the crew finish setting up for his show in Chicago. His opening had already played their set. They were running a little behind, his show had actually been meant to start 10 minutes ago and they were rushing to move the mic stands and plug in the amps. The adrenaline was starting to build in Luke, the rush of the audience noise filling his veins. He pulled out his phone for one last look and saw two missed calls from Calum right in a row. And then the screen lit up with a third one coming through. All the adrenaline rushed up to wrap around his throat. 

“Calum?” He answered ignoring the looks from people around him. 

“Luke. Where are you right now?” Calum sounded frantic. 

“I’m in Chicago. I’m about to play a show.”

“Shit. Ok. Call me after.”

“No. No way. Tell me. Is it Michael?”

Calum paused for an excruciating beat. “Luke-”

“I’m already imagining the worst. Just tell me.”

“Yeah. It’s Michael. He’s in the hospital.”

“Fuck.” Luke felt his body giving out, sitting down at the stage floor, his legs splayed out in front of him. “Shit. Fuck. What happened?”

“There was an accident. He was walking. A car ran a red light.”

“Was it a drunk driver or?”

“No, it was this young woman. She’s a nurse. Coming off like, a 72 hour shift or something. It was just an accident. They said she got right out of the car. Made sure he was still breathing. Saved his life, probably, until the ambulance got there.” 

Luke had pictured Michael a thousand ways, but never like this. Never a body laying broken in the street. 

“Are you with him? Are you there?” His manager was hovering two foot away from Luke, his expression shifting back and forth between concern and impatience. 

“No. I’m in L.A. for work. I can’t get a flight out until tomorrow night.”

“But he’s ok, right? He’s gunna be ok?” 

“They couldn’t tell me. They were taking him into surgery. They won’t know the damage until they get in there.” 

Luke pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his head between his knees, rocking back and forth. “Jesus, Jesus.”

“Luke, listen. We can’t do anything anyway. Even if we were there, it wouldn’t change anything. Go play your show. I’ll call his Aunt in Newark. They were never that close but I’m sure she’ll go to the hospital and keep us updated. Ok? Ok?” 

“Ok,” Luke managed somewhat brokenly. He hung up the phone but didn’t move. 

“Luke?” His manager came over. “What’s going on?”

“My friend’s in the hospital.” Luke said to his knees. 

“What do you need?” Luke knew what he was offering, that he was stocked up with drugs or alcohol for other musician clients he had. 

“A plane home.” 

“I can’t do that.”

“Then. 20 minutes? To make some calls?”

“Luke,” his manager crouched down next to him, “you’re already late to go on. Your fans bought tickets to see you tonight. You’re contractually obligated to play. I’ll get you on the first flight I can the minute they go home. Now, take some breaths. Get it together.” 

It wasn’t cruelty. He was only telling the truth. Luke lurched up to his feet, shaking off his manager's hand on his arm, walking out past the curtains, ignoring what a terrible idea this was. The second he was in sight, a noise of the crowd rushed up all around him, screaming and yelling. A sea of faces filling the large room. Excitement, tinged with confusion to see Luke without his guitar, his eyes all red. 

“Hello Chicago!” He said into the mic. The roar of the crowd swallowed down some of the panic. 

“I know this is. Um. Weird. Of me to do. But I couldn’t come out here without telling you, the show’s running a little late tonight. I just got a call. My friends in the hospital.” Luke put a shaking hand up to Michael’s necklace to steady himself. “I swear, I’m gunna play you one awesome show. I’m gunna give it 1000 percent like I always do cause I fucking love you guys.” 

There were cheers and someone yelled, “we love you, Luke!”

That made him smile. “Yeah, you’re the best fans in the world. So I just need 15 minutes to make some calls, make some plans to get to him tomorrow, and then I’m gunna play my heart out for you, I swear.” 

There were cheers and calls of support as he raised his hand in a parting wave and headed back behind the curtain. His manager threw his hands in the air in frustration and then held his phone up to make some calls of his own. 

In the upper level, a little girl said to her mother, “why can’t he go see his friend right now?”

“Cause he has to play for us.” She said, a little sadly. 

The little girl was freshly 12. She had a giant bow clipped to her ponytail. The tickets for her and her friend had been a birthday present. She leaned over to confer with her friend then turned to her mother, her mouth pursed seriously. 

“Mom, we want to go home.”

“Oh honey, it’ll still be a good show. He said himself, he just needs a minute.”

“No. I feel gross that he has to do this instead of go see his friend. That’s not fair. I don’t want to be the reason for that. We’d rather go home.”

“Sweetheart, if we leave, there’s still like 300 people in this room. It won’t change anything for him. He’ll still have to come out and play.”

“Yeah. But it won’t be because of us. Please, can we go home?” 

Her mother pulled her into the biggest hug. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” 

They gathered their coats and slid through the aisle. The people on either side, having overheard the conversation, looked at each other and then rose too. And then more and more people started making their way up, out of their seats, and down through the doors, a trickle that turned into a mass exodus. 

Luke was midway through explaining the situation to Ashton, talking him through where to go to meet up with Michael’s Aunt, when his manager came to tell him what was happening. He made it behind the curtains in time to see the general audience floor emptying out. A group of fans yelled, “we’ll come see you then you come back, Luke!”

“Give your friend hugs from us!” another group called. 

Luke wiped his eyes. “This isn’t what I. I mean. I didn’t expect this.”

“Definitely not,” his manager didn’t seem angry, just astonished. “I’ve been working in this industry for almost 20 years. I have never seen anything like this.” He blinked like he was coming up out of a trance. “Let’s get you to your friend.” 

Luke looked down at his phone, the call to Ashton still connected. He lifted the phone back to his ear. “Ash?”

“Yeah?” He could hear Ashton getting into his car. 

“I’m coming. I’m on my way.” 


	6. Chapter 6

It was coming up on midnight when Luke’s taxi pulled up to the hospital. He slogged his way into the waiting room and found Ashton.

“How is he?” Luke asked quick as he could. 

“No word yet.” Ash led him over to the corner of the waiting room he’d inhabited. “His aunt took off when she heard you were coming. She has kids at home. Let’s not judge her.”

Luke shook his head. “I’ll try not to.” He tried to get comfortable in the hard plastic chair. He knew how he looked. He’d come directly from the venue. His eye shadow was probably smeared down his face. His hair was still crunchy with hairspray. “You can go too. I know you’ve got to work tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ashton looked almost offended. “You think I would leave you sitting here all by yourself? I already called in sick.”

Luke slid down until his head was on Ashton’s shoulder. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“It’ll come out even when I’m best friends with Beyonce.” 

Luke snorted into his neck. “Ok.”

“Gross.” Ashton said. 

The doctor finally came out. 

“You’re waiting for news for Michael Clifford?”

“Yes. Yes, please, is he going to be ok?”

“Your friend was very lucky.” The doctor smiled. “He has a lot of scrapes, bruising, some internal bleeding, a couple broken ribs, a broken arm. But no real damage to any of his vital organs. He’s going to be uncomfortable for a while but nothing that won’t heal in time.”

“Oh my God,” Luke sat down. 

The doctor nodded compassionately. “A nurse can take you to see him now. But he’s still under anesthesia.” 

“Thank you.” Luke went to follow the nurse, looking back at Ashton as an afterthought he felt bad for having so late, “can you call Calum?”

“Of course. You go. Don’t worry about it.” Ashton gave him a thumbs up, already lifting the ringing phone to his ear. 

Luke hurried after the nurse, until they reached Michael’s floor when he stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway. He’d been so concerned about just getting here, just hearing that Michael was ok, that he hadn’t had time to realize. He was going to see Michael. He was going to know what Micheal looked like. The nurse looked back at him. 

Luke had a thought. “Hey, do you have a pen I can borrow? And some paper?”

She nodded and stopped at the nurse’s station to find a notepad and pen. 

Then they were at the door to Michael’s room and Luke still hadn’t really prepared himself to go in. The nurse misunderstood his hesitancy. 

“Go on,” She gave him a little nudge, “he’ll be sleeping for a while still. He won’t see you react to him all beat up. And remember, the worst is past. He’s on the mend now.”

Luke felt himself tearing up at that kindness. “Thank you.” 

He stepped through the doorway and there was Michael, laying in the hospital bed. It was true, the first thing he noticed were Michael’s injuries, the left side of his face scraped up, his arm in a cast. He looked small in the bed, and so pale under the fluorescence of the hospital lights. And then Luke noticed everything else, a smattering to tattoos visible on his arms, the beginning of dark stubble, his hair messy across his forehead. Luke stepped closer to smooth it into place. He pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat. Exhaustion crashed over him and he put his head down on the bed. Just for a minute, he thought, just the quickest nap. 

When he woke up, he was immediately disorientated, which happened all the time on tour, waking up in a new city every day. He did what he always did, which was keep still, taking stock of what he could sense around him. A machine’s steady beeping, a horrible pain in his neck, someone’s fingers tracing the shell of his ear. 

Michael. 

Luke sat up, causing his neck to jab a sharp protest. Michael’s hand immediately withdrew. 

“Oh,” Luke said, so intelligently, “you’re awake.” 

Michael nodded slowly, cautiously. 

“Oh,” Luke repeated. “I got you some paper? Here? If you feel up to writing anything.” He pushed over the pad on the little table. “But maybe you don’t and that’s ok. And also. I was thinking maybe you don’t want me here? And if you don’t, that’s fine. I can go. Calum’s going to be here as soon as he can. So if you want me to stay until he gets here, I can do that. Or if you want me to go right now, I’ll go.”

Michael pulled the table closer over his lap. The heart monitor was attached to his pointer finger and he had to hold the pen clutched in his fist. It took him a long time, writing in all caps across the page, STAY. 

Luke smiled a little at the word. “Ok.” 

Michael tore off the page and started on a new one.

_ HOW HERE _

“How am I here? How are you here?” 

Michael gestured at Luke. 

“Ah. Ok. Well. The hospital called Calum. They found this card in your wallet.” Luke dug it out of his pocket, the card that Ashton had showed him when he’d asked the same question. He held up the small piece of heavy, laminated cardstock. In stark letters were the words: I am often unable to communicate with speech. If this is an emergency please call the number below.

There had previously been two names and phone numbers that were scribbled over with dark ink. Calum’s name and number were below that in Michael’s handwriting. In the waiting room, Luke had touched the redacted names, trying to imagine at what point after the funeral Michael had taken a marker and physically removed that notion of a safety net. 

“But Calum’s in L.A. for something. So he called me to see if I could come. So I did.”

Michael’s brow was still furrowed in confusion. The writing was tiring him out, Luke could tell.

_ KNOW CALUM? _

“Oh.” Luke rubbed at his eyes. “That’s. Um. This is gunna sound crazy. But. When you left, I went in your apartment. I just wanted to know if you were coming back. Or, if you were ok, wherever you went. And I found your keys. And I sort of...took over...paying your rent. Please don’t be creeped out. I’m like, so aware how that sounds. And Calum came to try and talk to you and I opened the door. I thought maybe one day you’d get in touch with Calum and maybe you might want your stuff. Even if.” Luke looked down at his hands. “I don’t have to be in your life. But you shouldn’t have to abandon everything like that.” 

In his field of vision, Michael’s hand appeared, reaching to touch Luke’s palm gently. Luke closed his hand around just Michael’s fingertips. Michael let their hand stay together for a second before taking it back to write again. 

_ NOT CREEPY _

Just wait, Luke thought. You don’t know the half of it. But Michael was writing again.

_ WHAT ABOUT TOUR  _

“Michael,” Luke’s hand fluttered over Michael’s arm, wanting to touch him again, not sure if he was allowed, “I don’t know if this is the right time for this conversation but, fuck it, I’ll just repeat it a thousand times until it gets into that thick skull of yours. There is no tour, or album, or concert, or anything,  _ anything _ , that’s more important than you. When my guitar broke and I thought my music career was over, yeah that sucked. But the day you left? That was a million billion times worse. I’ve been really worried about you. I’ve really missed you.” 

Michael tilted his head all the way back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to keep some kind of composure. Finally, he picked up the pen again. 

_ MISSED U 2 _

Luke rubbed a little at his eyes. “Great, you’re crying, I’m crying. They’re never going to let me back in here.”

Michael smiled at that and it transformed his whole face, rounded his cheeks, brightened his eyes. But he still looked tired. His fingers clasped around the pen were turning white at the knuckles. 

“You should get some rest.” 

_ U 2  _

“I will when Calum gets here.” Luke reached up to massage the place where his neck was still sore. “I don’t think I can take anymore sleeping in this chair. I’m an old man now.” 

Michael scrunched up his nose. His face was such an open book. Luke already couldn’t remember what it had been like not being able to see it. Then he reached over behind his head and with an enormous effort, unplugged the heart monitor before Luke could even move to stop him. 

“What are you doing?” Luke gaped. 

Michael was scooting over although his face was all contorted like it was causing him all kinds of pain. He patted the now empty stretch of bed beside him. 

“Are you kidding? What if your heart gives out and we’re both sleeping?!” 

Michael rolled his eyes forcefully and patted the space beside him even more firmly.

“Ok. Ok.” Luke took off his fancy show boots and so, so carefully climbed up to lay next to him. “You get to explain this to the nurse if she comes in. Like 4 hours ago I thought you might be dying.” 

Michael reached one more time for paper, having an easier time writing now that he’d dropped the sensor for the heart monitor off of his finger onto the floor. He held up the note so Luke could see.

_ IM SORRY  _

“Don’t be sorry.” Michael was so close to him now, his head pillowed on Luke’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault you got hit by a car.” He paused, on second thought. “Don’t do it again, though.” 

Michael smiled again. He gave a very tired thumbs up. Then his eyes closed and he was almost instantly sleeping. Luke decided just to let himself have this moment. Tomorrow he could think about what blowing off a show meant for his career, what Michael’s move to the edge of the bed meant for his ribs. What the way Michael’s breaths against his collarbone meant for what they were to each other. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Everything all wrapped up all at once! Almost like a present! What a timely metaphor!

The nurse found it difficult to react when she woke Luke up several hours later. She was clearly torn between being annoyed and finding it adorable how Michael made sleepy grumbling noises as Luke extracted his arm and got out of the hospital bed. 

Luke reluctantly turned back on his phone. There were about 15 missed calls from his manager. Apparently, news of the venue’s flash mob style exit had gone viral. Luke’s name was trending on twitter. There was a video someone had taken and turned into a time lapse of everyone up and leaving. Luke showed it to Michael when he woke up and Michael watched it twice. 

_ AMAZING  _

Luke twisted his fingers around a little. “My manager wants to know if he should get me a flight to catch my Minneapolis show tomorrow. I can tell him no but I thought maybe if Calum’s here-”

_ GO _

“I have a little break after that show anyway. I’ll come right back.”

Michael nodded.

Luke flew to Minneapolis the following afternoon to make his show there. He waited until Calum arrived, drinking bad coffee out of the machine while the two of them got reacquainted. Before he left, a police officer came by the room to get a statement about the accident from Michael. A statement he proved unwilling to give. 

“If you don’t tell us what you remember,” the police officer said, “it will be very difficult for a court of law to press criminal charges.”

_ GOOD,  _ Michael wrote 

“You don’t understand,” the police officer was talking to Michael like he was a small child, “by not pressing charges you are releasing her from being the responsible party. That means her insurance company will almost certainly refuse to pay your hospital bills.”

Michael shrugged,  _ I can pay the bills. That’s not a problem.  _

“Michael,” Calum said carefully, “don’t you think she should be the one to pay? Since it’s her fault you’re here? Doesn’t it just make the most sense as a consequence for her making this happen?” 

Michael looked positively murderous at that assertion. He scribbled quickly across the notepad. 

_ She made a mistake. People make mistakes. And then I got here and every nurse here has been so good to me. Am I going to turn around and make someone just like them pay? I remember her leaning over me, saying I was going to be ok. Is that someone whose life I want to make harder? _

All the writing took a minute and at the end Michael dropped the pen from a foot above the table with a satisfying clatter like he was a comedian making a particularly salient point. 

Luke couldn’t help it. He just couldn’t. He leaned right over the bed, put his hands on Michael’s cheeks and kissed him right on the mouth. When he leaned back again, Michael’s eyes were so wide. The fingers of his right hand twisted in Luke’s shirt, yanking him back in for another kiss. When he finally released his grip, Luke looked up and saw the police officer had made himself scarce and Calum was pointedly staring up at the ceiling. 

When he chanced a look down and them, Calum grinned. “Well. I guess that’s how it is, huh?” 

Luke looked at Michael. He was nodding. “I guess it is.”

His Minneapolis show had an energy to it he couldn’t explain. Explosive. Joyous. He felt like he was reaching back toward Michael. Like if he got the crowd to yell loud enough, Michael would be able to feel all that love channeled his direction. 

When he made it back, he and Michael holed up the old apartment building. They spent the free days laying on Michael’s bed watching comedy specials, eating spaghettiOs, getting used to the way their fingers felt touching. 

A few nights into this, Luke was pouring water into glasses for them to have with dinner when Michael came in the room. Some miscommunication happened between their fingers when he went to hand the glass to Michael. It somehow slipped through his hand and shattered on the linoleum floor. 

“Shit!” Michael yelped, jumping back. And then his eyes widened, coming up to meet Luke’s, his hand slapping across his mouth. 

Luke gasped. They stood in absolute silence for a second with the shards of glass between them. 

A sound escaped from behind Michael’s hand. Then his hand came away from his mouth and he was laughing, the sound building until Luke was laughing too. The two of them, standing in the kitchen gasping for air. 

Michael clutched at his ribs. “Ah. Ow,” he gasped. 

“Probably a bad idea, laughing,” Luke said, still trying to figure out how to react to this development. 

Michael nodded. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it again, squeezing his eyes shut helplessly. He looked down at his feet. The mood immediately shifted. Luke reached for him, hindered by the broken glass. 

Michael backed away, disappeared out of the room, returning with the broom. When the glass was in the garbage, Luke came the rest of the way, pulling Michael into his chest. 

“It’s ok. It’s ok.” 

He had to finish the tour. Not that he minded, really. The shows felt like they were only growing, the people coming to see him more enthusiastic. He still called Ashton outside random bars to sing him Beyonce songs at the top of his lungs. He and Michael sent each other pictures every morning, when they first woke up and every night, right before they fell asleep. 

But tour finally ended and all that was left was a whole bunch of press in L.A. One night, after a day full of interviews, Luke saw a string of messages from Michael had come through at some point. 

_ My therapist recommended I try making a video talking to you to get rid of some pressure off actually talking to you.  _

_ So I did that.  _

_ You don’t have to say or do anything. It doesn’t have to mean anything.  _

And the final message, a video. Michael’s fingers adjusting his phone, then backing up to the couch. He tapped his fingers against the plaster of his cast, looking anywhere but at the camera.

“This is weird. I know this is fucking weird.”

Luke paused the video, took a moment. Started it again two more times. Memorized the sound of Michael’s voice.

“This is the seventh video I’ve tried to make so. I probably won’t send this one either. That’s probably why I can even talk right now.” Michael ran his fingers through his fringe. “There’s just. So much I want to say to you. And this feels like cheating, you know?

“I used to think I’d just grow out of this, ‘cause most kids do, you know? But instead I sort of, you know. Like. Grew into it.” Michael laughed a little at himself. “I don’t know what I thought was going to happen when I pretty much stopped leaving my apartment. But I had this idea that at some point something would get me back into the world. And. It was you. It turned out to be you.

“I’m not promising you anything. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But. Just wanting something again. That feels good. And that’s what you did for me. And I love you for that.”

Michael’s breath all whooshed out. “Holy shit. Fuck. I mean that.” He finally looked right at the phone’s camera lens. “I love you. I don’t know if I’ll ever. Say it again. And you don’t have to say anything. But. I just feel it. So much. I love you. Ok. Enough. I’m probably not even going to send this.” He rolled his eyes and reached to turn off the camera. 

Luke sat for a minute in shock and then went to find his manager. 

“How much time do I have until my next thing?” he asked. 

“Ah, about 48 hours.” 

“Ok. You’re going to hate me.”

“Oh fucks sake,” his manager finally gave him all his attention. “What is it now?”

“I’m going to need a flight home.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. It can’t wait.” Luke was already turning away to text Ashton a string of emojis. “I have something I need to say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, friends, if you made it all the way to the end, here's some more notes! The situation is thus: I tend to have quite cyclical interests and I can feel the end of my 5sos obsession on the horizon. It's lasted a long time, probably due to this Ao3 interest coinciding with it. But. This is also quite likely the last thing I'll write on here and almost certainly the last 5sos fic. So. I hope whoever you are, you got some enjoyment out of it. I've really loved writing more and it's been wonderful sharing it with you! As always, stay safe, be well. Much love!


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